


A Winter's Tale

by Fictionwriter



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 15:39:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionwriter/pseuds/Fictionwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tense day and a few drinks Doyle and Bodie have sex but the next day Bodie doesn't seem to remember what happened.  Or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winter's Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Milomaus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milomaus/gifts).



> Thank you to moth2fic for again providing her excellent beta services.

  
The sex, when it happened, was short, sharp and almost brutal and not what Doyle wanted.  Needed perhaps, but he certainly didn’t want it – not that way or for that reason.

  
Bodie seemed as unprepared, almost startled by the suddenness of it all, their coming together on the floor of Doyle’s apartment in a tangle of arms and legs almost as soon as they had walked through the door.  A grunting, inarticulate coupling that left them both gasping, their clothes disarrayed and a splattering of semen covering hands and bellies.   In truth it was little more than a mutual wank.

  
The silence that followed was strained, broken only by their harsh breathing. Doyle blamed the op; the tension, then the relief after it was all over and the gunfire had stopped leaving them both still in one piece. Surely the season, the festivities and the scotches they’d imbibed around the tattered Christmas tree in the rec room couldn’t be held responsible, could they? It was the season to be jolly after all and they’d been more than jolly a few minutes ago.  Fuck knew what Bodie blamed because he wasn’t saying.  But then Doyle hadn’t verbalised his opinion either. 

  
They lay there for a moment, the cold seeping through to their partly unclothed bodies, the darkness and sleet of that wet December night pressing against the windows. The silence in the flat stretched uncomfortably as their breathing quietened and Doyle tried to work out why this was so wrong and how he was going to fix it.  

  
He didn’t get a chance. In a flourish of speed that took Doyle completely by surprise his partner gathered himself and his clothes together and was gone, rushing out the door with a barely discernible mutter of “gotta go” leaving Doyle alone to contemplate the disastrous culmination of what he’d almost begun to hope, in the few seconds before Bodie had fled leaving him a dishevelled mess on the floor, was a change in the direction of their partnership.

 

bdbd  
  
  
Doyle didn’t know what to expect the next day.  He’d spent a restless night going over everything that had happened, the events that led up to their uninhibited but definitely ill-conceived coming together, trying to work out how it had come about and what Bodie’s reaction would be, other than to cut and run like he’d done last night.  But there were no answers, or at least none that made any sense to his fuddled brain in the dead of night.  Finally he’d fallen asleep in the early hours only to then over-sleep and somehow switch off the clamour of his alarm clock without it even waking him. So he was late into CI5 headquarters and late to the emergency briefing called by Cowley, who glared at him over his glasses as Doyle sidled into the briefing room and settled by the doorway, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles, trying his best to look nonchalant.

  
“Glad to see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence, Doyle.”  Cowley’s displeasure was a palpable thing amid the general shuffling and quiet sniggers

  
“Sorry, Sir.  Traffic,” he lied, letting his eyes wander, searching out his partner, who hadn’t bothered to either ring him or call by to pick him up.  Bodie was slouched in a straight backed chair at the back of the room, his concentration fixed with rather uncharacteristic concentration on their boss.

  
“Hmm, surprising considering the usually reckless nature of your driving,” was Cowley’s pointed comment before turning his attention back to the file he was holding in his hand. “As I was saying, according to information received a breakaway branch of the IRA, led by Brendan O’Reilly, is planning a Christmas bombing campaign.”  
  
  
“Do we know where O’Reilly is or what the targets are, Sir?” Anson asked through a cloud of cigar smoke.

  
“Unfortunately not, Anson.  Otherwise I would have somewhere to start looking wouldn’t I?” Cowley’s tone was dripping sarcasm by now. 

  
“So, our Christmas leave is cancelled?” someone else called from the back, probably Benny, he had a wife and kids and, Doyle knew, definite plans for the next couple of days.

  
“I’m afraid so, gentlemen.  As of now I want all agents out in force, either on the street chasing up informants or here at headquarters chasing up whatever leads come in.  Study the details that are in the folders I’ve given you, show O’Reilly’s photos around. We must get a head start on these terrorists, find out where they are holed up, what their intentions are and nip their operation in the bud.”  Cowley took off his glasses, fixing his agents with a beady eye. “Are there any other questions?”  No one braved a reply so Cowley pocketed his glasses and snapped the file shut “Do your job, gentlemen. Find these terrorists.  That is all.”

  
There was a general exodus and Doyle waited in the corridor for Bodie, walking beside him as they made their way out of the building.   
  
  
“Bloody day before Christmas Eve and we’re on full alert,” Bodie complained, pulling his collar up around his neck as they headed towards the two Capri’s parked side by side. “Was hoping for at least standby time, had some plans for tonight.”

  
“Blonde or brunette?” Doyle muttered, stung by Bodie’s attitude, and his obvious reluctance to talk about what had happened the night before, tinged with a healthy dose of jealousy.  But Bodie ignored him.

  
“You’d think the terrorists would want a holiday as much as the rest of us wouldn’t you?”  he said instead.

  
“Nah, the best time to terrorise, this,” Doyle theorised. “Everyone’s out and about doing their Chrissy shopping. Peace and goodwill, all that. Makes perfect sense with so many crowds all over the place, more collateral damage.” 

  
He could feel Bodie’s gaze on him but when he turned to look at his partner his eyes were averted, apparently concentrating on watching the foggy puffs his breath was making in the cold air and attempting to make smoke rings with them, judging by the shape of his mouth.

  
“You’re just cynical, Raymond,” he finally said, watching another breath drift away and disappear.

  
“Better than avoiding the obvious.”  Doyle told him, pushing a little.  But Bodie remained apparently oblivious and then strangely quiet, a small smile on his lips. 

  
 Subtlety obviously wasn’t going to work.  Doyle took a quick look around, just to check they were out of earshot and tried again.  “About last night …”

  
And that’s as far as he got before Bodie  interrupted.

“Yeah, think we both had a bit too much to drink last night. Things must have got a little out of hand,” he said, head down, his stride picking up pace. “Woke up with a splitting headache this morning, a mouth like a camel’s armpit and lots of hazy memories.” 

  
Doyle shook his head, frustration warring with anger, wondering at Bodie’s choice of wording. Did he honestly not remember what had happened?  Was he that oblivious?  With nothing further from his partner Doyle took a deep breath.

  
“Didn’t notice things being exactly out of hand, mate. Thought they were a bit in hand as a matter of fact.”  

  
They had reached the silver capri by now, Bodie’s usual ride, and Bodie didn’t answer him as he unlocked the driver’s side door. The smile had slipped a little but was still mostly in place and he had that sheepish look about him, the usual attempt at boyish bravado Bodie displayed when he was in trouble with Cowley or felt put upon. But there was something else in Bodie’s eyes that Doyle couldn’t quite identify. The intent, however, was clear, as far as Bodie was concerned last night was a non-event, something to be brushed aside and not mentioned.

  
Well, Bodie might want to forget but he didn’t.  Not the feel of Bodie pressed hard against him, of Bodie’s cock in his hand and his own cock being held in turn.  The rich delicious feel of that tongue pressed against his lips then sliding inside his mouth or the whispered words he knew he heard pressed into his hair.  Bodie had wanted it as much as he did. And it had felt so right.

  
No, he decided, as he waited for Bodie to get into the car and open the passenger side door for him, there was no way Bodie was getting away with a convenient lapse of memory.

  
But Bodie didn’t get into the car.  Instead he stayed braced against the open door, leaning slightly on the roof of the vehicle.

  
“Um, Cowley wants us checking our grasses, right?” he said, expression unfathomable.  

  
“So he said.”

  
“Right.  Got a couple of contacts that might know something.  Think I’ll check them out, see what I can dig up.  Might be able to come up with a few leads.”  

  
Doyle nodded.  “Let’s get started then.”

  
But Bodie didn’t move.  “Only, thought I’d best go on my own,” he muttered.  “The contacts I have in mind don’t like outsiders.  They might not be prepared to talk with someone else around.”   
  
  
“Never known your contacts to be so touchy before.”

  
“Well, ex-Army and you know you don’t like mixing with that lot anyway.”

  
“Yeah, ex-Army, ex-merc, ex-SAS.  All the same, don’t know how to behave in public.”  It was half a snark at his partner but mostly a tease and he expected Bodie to respond in the same vein.  Only he slid into the car with a casual “Yeah, well.  Catch you later on then.” 

  
Doyle watched him drive off, his mind ticking over.  If he didn’t know any better he would have said that Bodie was deliberately trying to avoid being with him. 

  
bdbd

  
He didn’t see Bodie back at headquarters later.  He didn’t see him at all that day.  When he returned from his own fruitless search amongst his contacts on the streets there was no sign of Bodie anywhere and his enquiries as to his partner’s whereabouts were met with quizzical looks.

  
“He came and went ages ago,” Jax told him as he was on his way out.  “Called in with some information he’d got from one of his old SAS mates about a possible IRA sighting last week.  Spoke to Cowley then he left, thought he’d be meeting up with you.”

  
And that’s when he knew Bodie _was_ trying to avoid him.  Disgruntled, Doyle made his own report to Cowley and was given permission to return home for some rest

  
  
But sleep was again elusive because every time Doyle closed his eyes the memories came, vivid and real. Not just of the night before but of the other times - what he recognised now as the slow and seductive dance he and his partner had been playing for years with their casual and not so casual touches and caresses, their intimacies.  A dance that had become a habit he didn’t want to break

  
  
So he spent most of the night sitting on the couch in his lounge, mindlessly gazing at the test pattern on the TV and trying to clear his mind, think logically about his partner’s reaction.  But sometimes logic and Bodie didn’t connect.  The man too often was an enigma wrapped in a puzzle and when he was at his most withdrawn even Doyle had problems working him out.  But what had happened between them was too real for either of them to ignore, too important. Only Bodie was too blind to see that and somehow Doyle had to open his eyes for him but he had no idea how to do that.  By the time he had fallen into a light doze the only conclusion he’d come to was that the time for any attempt at subtlety appeared to be over. 

 

bdbd

  
  
It was the jangling of the telephone in the early hours of Christmas Eve that jogged him awake.  The terrorists had been traced to an abandoned block of flats jammed between a Chinese takeaway and a tattoo parlour in a rundown corner of Brixton.  He was to proceed there with all possible haste.  
  
  
He took a moment though to consider his options and think about his immediate course of action as far as his recalcitrant partner was concerned. It wouldn’t hurt to show Bodie what he was missing, so he slid into his tightest jeans, the ones that according to the label were guaranteed not to shrink but somehow miraculously went down two sizes the first time he washed them. That, plus the green shirt, the one that brought out the colour of his eyes, should attract the sod’s attention, give him something to think about.  Pity it was so damn cold outside, made a coat a necessity.  He quickly checked his wardrobe, sorting through his options – the multi-coloured check, the cord with the big wool collar. Finally, hanging at the back of the wardrobe he found the black leather jacket he’d bought just after he joined the force.  Slim fitting, shiny he’d all but forgotten about it.  He slipped it on and checked his image in the mirror.  The jacket just reached the top of his jeans and was a little tight now, accentuating his shoulders more than it had when he was younger and tapering down to settle snug around his waist.  It was also not as warm as his other options.  No matter, the car had a heater.  

  
bdbd

  
Cowley had commandeered an empty shop directly across the road from the suspected terrorist hideout as an observation point and temporary headquarters and had already cordoned off the area with his men.  Doyle left his gold Capri on a side street and made the rest of his way on foot.  He spotted Jax casually washing Cowley’s car a bit further down the street from the hideout.  Ruth and McCabe, making very much an odd couple, were pushing a pram not far away.  Charlie stepping out of the shadows at the corner of the building startled him.

  
“Here, Doyle.  Cowley’s waiting for you. Down the lane, there’s a back entrance.”

  
Doyle nodded and followed Charlie’s directions. They had set up in the second story room of the shop, Murphy sitting by the window, binoculars trained on the building opposite, Cowley standing next to him, practically leaning over his shoulder, his own binoculars at his eyes his concentration focused on the street below.   
  
  
Bodie had obviously had time to stop off for breakfast sitting as he was at a small table at the other side of the room, a radio set beside him, his usual cheerful grin tucked around the bacon and egg sarnie he was scoffing.

  
“’lo, unshine,” he muffled with his mouth full, diction caught up in the depths of the meal, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  
“You’re disgusting, you know that?” Doyle told him, distracted by Bodie’s mouth working at the sarnie.

  
“Not, ‘m hungry,” Bodie responded, slightly clearer now he’d taken a swallow.  This was followed by another swallow as he seemed to really look at Doyle for the first time.  Doyle noticed, pleased with the way Bodie’s eyes widened slightly so he leant against the wall and gave Bodie even more reason to appreciate what he seemed to be rejecting.    
  
  
“Ah, Doyle.  Finally got here I see.”  Cowley had noted his entry.  “Don’t tell me, traffic.”

  
“Yes, Sir.” Bodie was smirking as Doyle unglued himself from the wall.

  
“Well, make yourself useful then and take over from Murphy.  We know there are at least two of them in there but so far there’s no sign of O’Reilly.”

  
“Yes, Sir,” Doyle repeated with a sigh, taking the binoculars off a relieved Murphy, who settled himself in the arm chair at the opposite end of the radio table. “What happens when, if O’Reilly appears?  
  
  
“We go in, Doyle. We can’t afford to wait around.”

  
Christmas Eve continued on a slow and boring journey towards a frosty twilight as they watched and waited and nothing happened.  If anything it just got colder and there was no heating in the flat.  Doyle shivered in his not-so-warm leather jacket and brooded while Bodie didn’t do much of anything only take his turns with the radio and binoculars mostly in silence, and stare at Doyle.

  
It was during Doyle’s rest time and Bodie’s turn on the radio that the argument started.

  
“Why’d you wear that skimpy jacket if you’re so cold?” Bodie’s quiet question seemed innocent enough but his glares were starting to get to Doyle, even if he’d thought to initiate them in the first place.

  
“What’s it to you what I’m wearing,” Doyle snapped, trying hard not to raise his voice too much and attract unwanted attention.

  
“My, my.  We are in a grumpy mood. It’s not my fault Cowley gets on your case because you’re always late.”

  
“I’m always late because my partner’s decided he has better things to do than pick me up for work like he’s being doing for the past fortnight.”

  
“What am I? Your bloody chauffer?

  
“For the last fortnight, yes! And while we’re on it, I thought partners were supposed to stick together, only suddenly it seems that one part of a partnership can just lob off any time he wants to and work alone.”

  
“I told you why I was going it alone yesterday didn’t I? I don’t know what’s got into you lately, Doyle.  You’re like a bear with a sore head.”

  
Doyle stared at him.  “After what happened the other night, you don’t know what’s got into me!” his whisper was fierce now and he didn’t really care who was listening.  “That takes the cake, it really does, you pillock!”

  
A flush was starting up Bodie’s neck and rising to his face but again Doyle couldn’t quite read him. “Ray, that’s not …” But whatever he was about to say was lost as Cowley chose that moment to break in.

 

“Whatever it is you two are bickering about you can stop it now.  There are more important things afoot than your petty squabbles.” 

  
“Yes, _Sir_ ,” Doyle retreated back into the depths of the arm chair, quietly smouldering

  
Bodie nodded at his boss, his face expressionless as he turned back to the radio  _“It is Christmas Eve in the Workhouse, And the cold bare walls are bright. With garlands of green and holly, And the place is a pleasant sight_ ,” he quietly misquoted.

  
Doyle couldn’t help the snort, his anger lost for the moment in Bodie’s irreverence but Cowley was unimpressed.

  
“Aye, and the paupers will sit at the tables for as long as I tell them to.”

  
“Mr Cowley,” Murphy interrupted.  “O’Reilly’s just arrived.”

  
Cowley swung back to the window. “So he has and about time too.  It’s time to move.” 

  
In seconds he had commandeered the radio and was issuing his orders.

  
bdbd

  
  
  
The argument was forgotten as they advanced on the building, guns ready, Doyle and Bodie skirting to the rear alleyway while Murphy and Charlie tackled the front door.  Anson, Ruth and McCabe (minus the pram) formed a perimeter in the street, blocking the exits with Cowley directing operations from their obbo point.  

 

“Doyle, Bodie, remember I want them taken alive. And that goes for you too Murphy.  No gunfire unless absolutely necessary.”

  
Doyle took a precious second to lift the RT to his ear with his free hand.  “Of course, Sir.  Understood,” he muttered rolling his eyes and mentally switching off the sound of Murphy’s voice coming through the RT agreeing with Cowley’s directive as he put it back in his inside jacket pocket. He glanced at Bodie, close behind him, saw the reciprocal grin on his face as he nodded then Doyle slipped around the large, overflowing industrial waste bin standing opposite the back door of the building.  Ignoring the door they headed to the fire escape and began to climb, checking and covering as they went. This would never change, the implicit trust they had in each other, their almost telepathic knowledge of what the other was about to do.  

  
Bodie reached the window of the top story flat first.  They were to enter there and make their way down, clearing each room as they went.  He checked, then began to open the window. 

  
That was when Doyle’s RT barked into life. “Get out.  Get out! The stupid bastard has triggered the bomb.”

  
Doyle and Bodie looked at each other then down at the metal stairs they had just climbed.  They nodded in unison and jumped.

  
They both managed to land in the industrial bin, buffeted on the way down by the explosion that ripped through the upstairs flat and tore out the window they had been just about to climb through.  Glass and pieces of debris rained down on them but they dug deep into the ordure of the refuse and it gave them cover of a sort.  Doyle stayed as still as he could, holding his breath against the stench of the bin while the world around him reverberated to the noise of a thousand fireworks going off at once as another explosion split the air.

  
Finally the world settled into a steady hum of shouted voices, wailing sirens and his squawking RT. He pushed upwards, shoving at the pungent mix of rotting food and garbage until his head was clear and he could breathe in without taking in a mouthful of the stuff.  The smell of smoke and fire almost covered the stench from the bin.  

  
There was a shuffling beside him, a gentle heaving as Bodie emerged leviathan-like from the steaming mess, a glorious crown of egg noodles and some kind of indeterminate sauce dripping from the top of his head and streaming down towards his shoulders.  Doyle stared, then spluttered, then laughed outright. Bodie looked offended.

  
“You’ve got noodles on your head,” Doyle explained, the laughter still bubbling

  
Bodie leaned forwarded, peering closely at Doyle. “Yeah, well something’s buried itself in that mop of yours and I’m sure it’s still alive.  Hold still.” He reached out and slapped hard against the side of Doyle’s head. “Got it!” 

  
Doyle jerked back with a “ger off” then they were both grinning like loons and Bodie’s hand was raking through Doyle’s hair and Doyle couldn’t stop himself as all the frustration and desire he’d been feeling over the past twenty four hours bubbled to the surface.  He gripped his partner by the shoulders, pushed him up against the side of the bin and kissed him, hard and demanding.  The feel of Bodie’s lips beneath his was sweet and soft, welcoming as he opened up slightly.

  
But then everything changed and Bodie wasn’t responding, if anything he was backing off and when Doyle pulled back to look into his eyes they were distant, like Bodie was getting ready to run again, that was if he could disentangle himself from both Doyle and the mess that was still pinning him in the bin, he was certainly trying hard enough as he struggled against Doyle’s light restraint.

  
Suddenly Doyle had had enough “Fuck you!” he stormed, pushing Bodie away from him as he hauled himself up from the gooey mess, managing to get a grip on the rim of the bin and pull himself out.  He could hear Bodie struggling and muttering behind him but he no longer cared what he might have to say.  He did hear Bodie’s cry of ”Wait a minute, Ray” and the sound of Cowley’s voice coming from his RT, which was still in his jacket pocket but he ignored that as well.  Instead he just kept walking. 

  
There was rubble and debris covering the street in front of the flat.  Curious residents and onlookers crowded the pavements.  Doyle was relieved to see Murphy and Anson loading what was obviously one of the Irish terrorists into a squad car.  Cowley was there too, talking to the police officer in charge.  He spotted Doyle as he rounded the corner.

  
“Doyle, where the hell have you been and where’s Bodie?”

  
“Probably still up to his neck in shit, Sir,” he told him

  
Cowley gave him an odd look but he didn’t care about that either.   

  
“Right, well make yourself useful.  Another one of these idiots is still alive.  Get yourself to the hospital, see what condition he’s in and then report back.”

  
Doyle was happy to accept the assignment and he wasn’t bothered where Bodie was or what he was doing. This time he was doing the avoiding. 

  
bdbd

  
The chill woke Doyle, a misty cold that penetrated through the bedcovers and into his bones.  He’d been too tired and dispirited when he’d finally got home the night before, or maybe it was the morning, he was no longer sure, having lost track of time, to do anything other than slip out of his clothes and don an old pair of pyjama pants and a t-shirt as protection against the icy sheets and slide into bed without bothering to turn on the boiler. He’d walked after they had questioned the injured terrorist at the hospital, needing to be alone but not yet wanting to face his empty flat.  Bodie’s reaction, his desire to forget what had happened between them had hurt more than he wanted to admit and he wasn’t sure yet how he was going to make that hurt go away.  But if that was the way Bodie wanted it, then so be it.

  
He snuggled further down into the bed, pulling at the covers in an effort to bring some more warmth into his freezing limbs but it didn’t work.  

  
“It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here.  I’ve turned the boiler on.  Not sure why you didn’t turn the damn thing on last night though, better than freezing your arse off now waiting for it to heat up.”

  
The shock of the quiet words were like a blow and he added to the feeling when he banged his head on the headboard in his rush to sit up.  Bodie was sitting in moonlight and shadow at the bottom of the bed, leaning against the wooden footboard gazing at him with a hesitant half-smile on his face.

  
 “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  
Bodie shrugged “I was watching you sleep. Now I’m talking to you.  You do know you drool a little when you’re asleep, don’t you? It’s actually quite endearing”

  
Doyle couldn’t stop the reflexive swipe at his mouth or the grimace at the slightly damp feeling he found there.  “Pillock,” he muttered.   “That’s a bit creepy you know, watching someone like that could get you arrested, same as breaking into a person’s flat.”

  
Bodie held up his hand, a key on a plain key ring dangling from his fingers. “Didn’t break in, used the key you gave me,” he informed him, looking slightly smug at his reminder of the mutual decision they’d made several months ago to ensure their own security by exchanging keys.  

  
Doyle shuffled, pulling the blankets closer around himself, using them as a barrier between them.  “You still haven’t answered the questions.  Why are you here? And don’t tell me it’s because of a sudden interest in my wellbeing.”

  
“Wanted to talk to you.”

  
Doyle rolled his eyes.  “You wanted to talk,” he repeated.  “Couldn’t it have waited until we were at work?”

  
“Cowley’s given us the day off, which you’d have known if you bothered to check in instead of disappearing off the face of the earth.  So no, it couldn’t have waited.”

  
 “Why, Bodie?  You’ve barely spoken to me for days. What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, or even the day after?”

  
“Because you kissed me.”  Bodie faltered, seemed almost lost, unsure and Doyle felt a moment of pity for him, but that’s all it was, just a moment.

  
“We did a lot more than kiss two nights ago,” he told him, all the hurt and anger welling up again. “But somehow you seem to have forgotten all about that.”

  
“I haven’t forgotten. Was tryin’ to work up to something for weeks, then it all happened so quickly.  Didn’t want it to end up as wham bam thank you …” Bodie faltered.

  
“Sir?” Doyle suggested, slightly amused at the analogy.

  
Bodie laughed then grew serious again. “Yeah, Couldn’t stand the thought of it just being a one off - meaningless sex. So I backed off, thought we could start again."

  
“Stupid berk! You didn’t back off, you took off, like a scalded cat.  And when, exactly, were you going to start off again and what with? " 

  
Bodie had the grace to look guilty. “That’s why I brought that,” he said looking at a point above Doyle’s head. “Thought it might help get us back on track.”

  
Doyle twisted, looking up to follow the direction of Bodie’s eyes.  At the top of the headboard, held on with bits of sticky tape, was a tatty piece of mistletoe, its berries sad, the leaves drooping.

  
Suddenly Bodie was there, right beside him and his kiss was possessive and demanding,   claiming him, seducing him.  Doyle wanted to pull away, like Bodie had done with him before.  But he couldn’t because this was Bodie and it was so right.  

  
Bodie finally drew back a little.  “I’m sorry, Ray.  I’ve been stupid.” The words were whispered against his mouth. “Forgive me?”

  
“Well I suppose you can’t help being a complete arse at times,” Doyle conceded, then laughed when he felt Bodie’s indignation and pulled his partner close again to kiss away the pout.

  
This time there was no rush when Bodie pulled off his t-shirt then ran his hands down Doyle’s sides to slide under the elastic of his pyjamas. Or when Doyle unbuttoned Bodie’s shirt and pushed it off his shoulders.  There was even less rush when Doyle’s pyjama bottoms were gone and Bodie’s trousers had been unzipped and disposed of.  Instead there was a languid journey of exploration with hands and lips.  But when Doyle’s cock became encased in Bodie’s hot mouth things speeded up quite a bit until they were both panting, sticky and sated.  But this time Bodie didn’t run and Doyle heaved a contented sigh as he drifted off to sleep again his arm wrapped firmly around his partner’s waist, holding him close – just in case.  

  
bdbd

  
He woke this time to daylight streaming into the room through open curtains and snow drifting past the window.  The flat was toasty warm now and he could hear movements in the kitchen, low music and Bodie singing along to what he realised was a Christmas carol.  He looked up at the headboard and smiled.  The mistletoe was looking even more bedraggled, bits of sticky tape curling up from the leaf edges.  

  
“You should put that in a glass of water,” he said as Bodie walked into the bedroom wearing nothing but a broad smile, carrying a cup of tea and still singing Joy to the World.  

  
“Yeah, can’t let it die now. Was the perfect excuse to kiss you,” he said setting the cup of tea down on the bedside table.

  
Doyle snorted. “You needed an excuse, did you?”  

  
“Well, I thought there was less chance you’d deck me if it was traditional,” he said unsticking the tape before vanishing out the door again, mistletoe in hand.  He was back in seconds carrying the plant perched jauntily in a glass and already looking more cheerful.

  
“Merry Christmas, Bodie,” Doyle told him as he set the glass down on the bedside table.

  
“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Ray.  We’re alright aren’t we?”

  
“We are,” Doyle agreed, pulling the blankets aside.  The next bit was out before he could stop it, or even think about it.  “Ah, Bodie, love. You’ve given me more joy than any other I’ve ever known.”  
  
  
  
Bodie beamed.  “You too, mate,” he said as he settled next to his lover.  “And the sex is good too.”

 

“Prat,” Doyle told him as Bodie began nuzzling into his hair. “The sex is great.”

  
“Hmm, it is that.” Bodie sniffed delicately near his ear. “You didn’t have a bath when you got in last night did you?”

  
“You saying I smell?” 

  
“Well, maybe there’s just a little whiff of _eau de refuse_. And I think that small creature I found in your hair yesterday has nested.”  He ruffled through the curls, searching diligently for evidence.   

  
“Ger off!” Doyle jerked away, batting at the laughing Bodie’s hands until he fell back on the bed and held them up in mock surrender.  Satisfied with his victory Doyle leant over the supine body to do his own sniffing.

  
“You’re a bit ripe yourself,” he said.  But he was lying. Bodie’s aroma was that of sex and aftershave, maleness and something uniquely Bodie and it was delicious.

  
Bodie’s arms came around him then, pulling him down until their bodies were close.

  
“We can have a bath later, together,” he said against Doyle’s mouth.  “Okay?”

  
More than okay thought Doyle as he confirmed the arrangement in a practical way and without words.

  
On the bedside table his cup of tea grew cold and the mistletoe’s leaves took on a bright glow. 

 

  
End.

 

  
  



End file.
